


Collision

by hissingmiseries



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Car Accidents, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Ghosts, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Major Character Injury, Memories, Near Death Experiences, Out of Body Experiences, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:50:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6322891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hissingmiseries/pseuds/hissingmiseries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even mechanics can have their disagreements with cars, as Aaron finds out when he crashes his car on a remote country road, and wakes up to a familiar face waiting for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's the wind that wakes him up first. The melodic whistle of night air, undisturbed and unaffected in its sound by the lack of passing cars and animal life. Well, it's gentle at first; when it begins to howl, harsh and raucous, that's when it stirs him. Immediately he's grouchy - the whole thing is reminiscent of being rudely awoken by a screaming alarm clock - so he attempts to turn over, maybe duck his head and block out the noise. It doesn't work.

When his eyes open, he's met with broken glass and mauled metal. The vehicle rests, peaceful, finally stationary after a tumult down a grass bank, cradled in a ditch and crumpled like paper. The shape it once held is long gone, the frame now just a crushed pile of aluminium and the windows merely webs of cracks; to say cars are supposed to be strong machines, a couple of turns down a hill is enough to practically flatten them. And flatten the people inside.

There's blood pooling out onto the leather seats and dripping down into the footwells. There's smears of it everywhere, staining the glass shards red, painting the scene scarlet. It looks final, like there's no other possible outcome other than the worst for whoever's trapped inside the wreck - they should have bled out by now, anyway. The car's been there for a good twenty minutes, concealed by shrubs, away from human eyes.

Aaron's eyes open, however, and through the hazy sight of a swollen eye, he sees a spread of stars across an inky sky through the shattered skylight. It's deathly quiet, the wind dying down to a lingering hum, and aside from a lone dog bark somewhere in the distance, all Aaron hears is the blood running through his head. It swells and churns, nauseating, and for a few seconds his muscles lie dead. He stays still and _listens_.

When he moves, there's a surprising lack of pain shooting through his system; instead, he stands easily, keeping low to avoid slamming his head straight into the concaved roof. When he peeps out through the skylight, it's far too dark to see the road - he's encompassed by vegetation, with one hell of a hillside stretching up to the heavens and casting the wreck into permanent shadow. There's no chance of anyone finding him until at least morning, and that's if anyone casts their eyes down into the ditch for whatever reason. 

It's when he ducks back into the car, turning round to look for his phone, that he sees himself.

Well, he sees his _body_.

Pale and lifeless, the battered figure of Aaron Livesy lies in the back seat, shaken violently and broken in more places than he can count. He's as shattered and crumpled as the car, blood pouring from a gaping wound in his head and matting his hair. It looks like he came in pieces, and someone's just put him back together again.

And yet, when Aaron looks down at his own body, looming over this twisted corpse without an ounce of pain or difficulty, he sees no injury. His own arms work as they should, his joints hinge effortlessly, he stands upright (well, a little hunched over) amongst the carpet of broken glass and aside from a few spots of blood on his jumper, he looks and feels as healthy as he did the day before. There's no evidence that his car just overturned, or that he's folded up like a pretzel beneath a destroyed car seat. He's apparently fine, running smoothly, and yet there lies his body. It takes a few seconds for everything to click in his brain - he's only ever seen this stuff in crappy horror films - but when the conclusion comes, it comes hard.

_I've died._

 

* * *

 

There's no racking sobs. He doesn't drop to his knees and howl in disbelief. In fact, the whole thing is surprisingly underwhelming. He's never been religious, nor does he believe in the whole reincarnation business, but he at least expected _something_. A bright light, maybe, or a comforting voice. Instead, all he can do is look like something from Final Destination and wonder how the hell he managed to lose control of a car on a straight stretch of road. He can't remember what happened, no matter how hard he racks his brains (brains? Does he have any now?). Maybe a stray cat sped across his path, or he swerved to dodge a litter heap. Still, it's a bit too late now.

It also irritates him that he's not here on his own terms. More than once he's dreamt about this, and more than once he's attempted to reach this, but of course, the only time he finally gets to have his wishes granted is when he's not sure he even wants them any more. The lack of control in his life has even carried on into his death; that's typical. His life over the past year had started to finally get better, things had begun to settle... and now here he is.

What the hell does he do now? Is he doomed to just be wandering the Earth for eternity? The last thing he wants is to see his family mourn for him, for Robert to continue in life and find someone else, to see Liv grow up and not have a brother to give her away at her wedding. He doesn't want to see his mum's face when the news of his death breaks. The Dingles have had enough heartbreak to last them all a lifetime, and he's been the cause of a good chunk of that. If only Robert were here. He'd know what to say.

After a minute or two of deliberation, Aaron decides that if he has to hike it back to Emmerdale in whatever weird form this is (he refuses to say the word 'ghost' because it's too ridiculous), he will. Maybe he can scribble out a note on the bathroom mirror of the Woolpack, leave someone an address, or find his mum and give her a nudge until she realises something's wrong. If only he could find his _damn_ phone!

When he stretches out to clutch the crooked frame of what used to be the rear left window, hoping to hoist himself out into the rural surroundings, the metal feels peculiar beneath his hand; warm and almost soft to the touch. He flinches slightly, expecting the vehicle to tilt and possibly roll again, but it stays perfectly still no matter how much weight he puts against it. Does he _have_ weight any more, or is he just some floating mass now?  _Ugh, this is mental._   _What the fuck am I supposed to do?_

"Don't freak out - you're not dead yet." 

The voice comes out of nowhere, practically materialising from the ether, but it sends Aaron's stomach churning. 

He hasn't heard it in years, and yet it's all too familiar, as clear and as crystal as if he'd heard it yesterday. At first, he thinks he's hearing things; but then he turns round, looks back at the car, and sees a figure perched in the upright front seat. The same light curls, the same sparkling dark eyes, even the same permanent furrow between his eyebrows. The things that takes Aaron most aback is the lack of wheelchair, and the way he's slouched against the crippled door frame without a care in the world, able-bodied. Healthy.

"Jackson?" 

 

* * *

  

If the whole 'dying' thing hasn't bowled him over already, seeing Jackson does, and for the first time since he woke up, he  _feels_ something - his heart aches. It tugs and it aches and finally it hits him that  _this_ is what he's been trying to return to since he lost him. Since he poured drug-clouded liquid down his boyfriend's throat and ended his life, then spent the rest of his life trying to end his own. Jackson looks so normal. The pale, gaunt figure who sat in a wheelchair and cried is nowhere to be seen; instead, Jackson has his legs swung up on the remnants of the dashboard, partially lit by starlight and just as gorgeous as Aaron remembers him. He's positioned casually, regarding his old boyfriend with curious eyes, and almost dispelling the last few traumatic years of his life as he does it.

Of all the questions that immediately come rushing to Aaron's head, his mouth splutters out the one that's more appropriate for the situation.

"Wh... what d'yer mean, I'm not dead?" He gestures helplessly to where his body lies. The bleeding has started to clot, the blood thickening.

"You're not dead yet," Jackson replies with a casual shrug of his shoulders. It takes Aaron's eyes a few seconds to adjust to him doing that. "You probably will be soon, though, if no one comes along."

"Like anyone's gonna see me down here," Aaron murmurs, already accepting of his fate. Everyone's time has to come. Now it's his.

"It's weird, innit?" Jackson says, looking over at his ex with a smirk; he's so  _nonchalant_ about everything. "I guess I didn't freak out as much as others. I mean, I was expecting it, y'know?" Aaron does know. He knows and it plagues him with regret everyday. No matter how many times people try to tell him it was the right thing to do, that yes, it _was_  what Jackson wanted, nothing helps. Just the mention of him, of that awful day is enough to make it tear up, and thankfully, he finds out pretty quickly that spirits apparently cannot cry. "There's no cool stuff, unfortunately. You can't sneak up behind folk and make 'em jump or anything like that. It's pretty boring, to be honest."

"So what, have you just been 'anging round this whole time?" Aaron asks, brow furrowed in confusion because none of this is fitting together in his head. There's no hostility in his voice - there isn't a hostile bone in his body when it comes to Jackson - more pleading, desperate for some answers. 

"I go back between you and me mum, mostly," Jackson returns, letting out a sigh as Aaron approaches the vehicle, peering in through the window. The cracks in the glass shatter Jackson's face into a thousand jagged pieces. "Check on some of me mates. Have you seen me mum since...?" He trails off, unsure if Aaron's fit to talk about the happenings of that night yet.

"I got a birthday card one year." It was a simple one, blue and white with a generic  _Hope you're doing okay_ message written in typical "mum" handwriting, but it had feeling, considering Aaron never expected to hear from her again.

"Typical," Jackson huffs with laughter, and he's about to say something else when an irritating jingle starts playing from somewhere deep inside the wreck, and a few rays of harsh white light stream out through the cracks in the rubble. Recognising the noise as his ringtone, Aaron reacts like a racehorse, diving back into the car through the back window (the metal still feels uncomfortably warm beneath his grip) and fishing out his phone. He tries to pick it up but it slips through his hands, fingers refusing to hold the object in place, and he grumbles in frustration as it nudges and clatters further, out of his reach. He can see exactly who's calling - the picture of a grinning face, a face of ecstasy caught in a moment of happiness, next to a name in bold white text.  _Robert._

Oh, Robert. He's probably sat in the Woolpack now, teasing Victoria about something or exchanging ever-so-slightly hostile glances with Chas over the bar (the pair of them can hold grudges for England) and wondering why his boyfriend isn't home yet considering he went out ages ago on a simple job that should have taken ten minutes. If only he knew.

"Who is it?" Jackson pipes up from the front seat, turning round to look at Aaron's annoyed face. "Chas? Robert?"

"'ow do _you_ know Robert?" 

"I told you," he replies simply, like this whole thing is obvious. He's had more experience being dead than Aaron has. "I've been visitin' you. Could hardly miss your new boyfriend, could I?"

"Yeah, well, I'd like yer to tell me what the _'ell's going on_ ," Aaron grumbles, standing up and ignoring his phone with every ounce of strength he has - he can't imagine Robert back at home. Not like this. "What 'appens when I die? Do I just float around like a muppet 'till everyone else dies?"

"Hey, watch who you're calling muppet!" Jackson nudges him, and it startles Aaron when he actually feels it, toppling slightly with the sheer shock of being touched. It even provokes a smile. The smile of awe, when you're trying to process something that just happened and struggling to contain your feelings at the same time. Jackson smiles back, even chuckles, and it's music to Aaron's ears. He's missed that smile.

"Seriously though," Aaron says, deflating slightly. "What do I do now?"

"Take a seat," Jackson gestures, half-jokily, to the tattered driver's seat next to him. It's completely ripped from its original place, opening up the footwell and conveniently providing an easy place to sit, so he follows Jackson's orders, drawing his knees up to his chest like a child. The panic's starting to set in now, welling up in Aaron's chest, and his almost trigger reaction is to dig his nails into the flesh of his hands. It ticks him off when he doesn't feel anything.  "We've got hours to kill."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kind feedback on the first chapter! I wasn't sure this whole out-of-body scenario was going to make sense, so I wasn't going to write it. Thanks for reading! x

An age of silence passes, broken by the monotonous roll of cars in the distance and, from the next town along, a few rowdy yells as the clubs begin to pour out onto the streets. Everything feels peculiar, somewhat hazy; even when he's shut up in his room and refusing to move, he can hear his own heartbeat, hear blood in his head and his breath slipping from his lungs. Now, there's nothing. It takes him a minute or two to realise he's not actually breathing consciously; there's no need to any more, not while he's like this. The few fleeting glances he casts back at his body make him squirm - it's not an easy sight - but when he manages to swallow down the nausea and focus on it, he can see his own chest rising and falling rhythmically. It's slow, fractional, barely noticeable, but at least it's happening. His body seems to be working for the moment, but Aaron doesn't know when it's going to stop, and that's been keeping him on edge since he sat down here in the demolished footwell of his car, playing with broken shards of metal. They feel ever so strange beneath his fingers: warm, soft, almost malleable. It's a cheap distraction but it does its best.

Jackson remains perched on the neighbouring chair, watching Aaron's fascination with the scraps and clinging onto the hope that maybe Aaron might ask a question and get the ice broken. Then again, he's never really been the one to start conversation, unless it's with aggression or, his personal favourite, scathing sarcasm. The silence has been slightly comforting, though, and it's given Jackson to chance to properly look at his old boyfriend, not just through brief watches every once in a while like he's used to. It's amazing to him how much Aaron's matured physically - no longer does he look like the chavvy teenager that Jackson met in Bar West who promptly ran out on him. He's softened at the edges, grown his hair out longer and darker and gained a stocky, broad physique that suits him surprisingly well. He's not decked out in full Adidas attire like he used to be (though the hoodie and blood-spattered jeans he's currently wearing are probably the smartest things in his wardrobe) and the completion of facial hair just emphasises how many years have passed. Almost eight years now. It's flown by.

The sound of sirens nearby grabs both of their attention, and there's a flicker of hope that maybe someone saw him crash and there's an ambulance approaching, but they fade away as quickly as they appeared and Aaron slumps back against the tattered remains of the car seat, disappointed.

Eventually the silence becomes deafening, and Jackson rolls his eyes before clearing his throat, making Aaron startle.

"So, have you come to terms with the whole death thing yet?" he questions, sarcastically but without any bite, and Aaron lets out a huff, flicking a piece of metal at him.

"Got no choice, really, have I?" he mumbles; they both know that he's never been the type to get over things quickly. If the last decade of his life has taught him anything, it's that. "I wonder what they'll put on me coffin."

"I dunno... spanner made of flowers, maybe?" Jackson replies, coaxing a small smile onto Aaron's face. "Beer bottle? High-vis jacket? Ooh, how about a list of every guy you've decked?"

"God, they'll be there all day," he smirks, just imagining the scene; Cain, Robert, Paddy...  _Jackson_. "I can't believe I decked you, though. You know I'm sorry about that, right?"

The grins slide from both their faces, replaced with solemn, hollow looks. Even after all this time, it's still a touchy subject. It always will be. 

"That's a different time now," replies Jackson. "You were in a different head space. And you know what the best part is?"

Aaron looks up, a mixture of hesitant and expectant.

"You were okay with it before, but you're _confident_ with it now. I've only seen you every once in a while since, but just through that, I've seen how comfortable you've become with it. I'm proud of you."

He's always struggled with eye contact, especially when people are showering him with sincerity, but this time round Aaron doesn't flicker. Those words mean everything coming from Jackson, and he wasn't sure he'd ever hear them, especially from the person he treated like utter shit at the beginning. 

Jackson continues, returning his gaze to the shrubbery outside, slowly dancing in the breeze. "I was at the trial." That makes Aaron's ears prick up, and he gazes at his ex with widened, intrigued eyes. "Just moved around the room, watching everything. I was stood next to you at one point. I just wanted to pick that judge up and shake 'em and just scream, y'know? Tell 'em and that whole courtroom that it weren't your fault. Then the verdict came and I knew that it was time to leave you alone for a while."

It's weird thinking about it; Aaron stood there in the dock, somewhere that's practically a second home to him by now, he's been there so often, and Jackson right beside him as the verdict got delivered. He's surprised he didn't feel his presence. 

"You should've given me some sorta  _sign_ or somethin'," Aaron says, before realising how silly of a concept that is.

"What, send the judges' papers flying everywhere or knock the prosecution's wig off? Yeah, alright," Jackson laughs, and without even realising, Aaron's chuckling too.

"Any other times you've been 'anging round me like some crazy stalker?"

"Pfft... d'you want a list?"

 

* * *

 

"It was hard seeing what you went through afterwards," Jackson says, voice quiet as Aaron feels the atmosphere take a plunge. He knows exactly what Jackson's referring to - the route he always takes. Whether it's a set of keys or drawing pins or a razor blade or a box cutter, he'll always find something, and he'll always cause damage. His self-destruct button is big and red and shiny, the type usually reserved for nuclear bomb detonators, at the forefront of his brain, and no matter how hard he's tried to fight it, it's always been the first option. "That's something else I'm proud of when it comes to you. You always manage to pull yourself back together. For someone who's been through so much, you're the strongest person I know. And I know I'm not the only person who thinks that." Aaron's mind immediately goes back when Robert found him in the scrapyard and wrapped his arm round his shoulders and pulled him in for a much-needed hug, after parroting that exact line. Maybe Jackson was there for that, too.

Thankfully, Jackson isn't regarding him with the usual pitying, pathetic look people usually wear; instead, he just looks like he's _listening_ , and for someone so swarmed with family whenever something remotely bad happens, it's a surprisingly rare approach to get, and one that Aaron is incredibly grateful for.

"I'm sorry I kept fightin' with your mum," Aaron says, diverting the subject a little. "She offered me a place to stay and I just spat it back in 'er face."

"Hey, don't worry about her," Jackson immediately reaches out, like some sort of knee-jerk reaction, placing a gentle hand on Aaron's shoulder, and Aaron swears he can feel shivers run straight down his spine. "You know her, tough as old boots. Besides, she sent you a birthday card. That's practically a blessing. How many kisses did she put on it?"

"Erm... two."

Jackson winces comically. "She kept three reserved for me. You're not in her good books yet." 

"Have you spoken to 'er recently?"

"Last time I saw her, she was in Scarborough," Jackson replies, and Aaron glances up because he was in Scarborough just a few days ago, fixing up a few vans whilst Robert blasted Coldplay on the radio the whole journey there then bought a pair of neon blue sunglasses from the seaside shop that made Aaron giggle for five straight minutes. He still wears them on occasion, usually after a certain amount of alcohol's in his system, and it always manages to make Aaron smile. "Holbeck Avenue, if you ever want to drop in and say hello. It'd mean the world to her."  _Holbeck Avenue._ He'd been called to Esplanade. A five minute walk and he'd probably have been outside Hazel's front door. Small world.

"I miss her," Jackson says, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "She's lost her... I dunno...  _pizazz._ Anyone who meets her now will just think she's the sweet middle-aged lady next door but people like you, people who've known her a while, they'll see the difference."

"I was the same when I lost you." Aaron says to the floor, and he feels a weight seemingly roll from his dead shoulders; although Aaron's convinced he was born with pieces missing, that he was never fully whole, Jackson dying just tore him to pieces, and he's never fully recovered, no matter how confident he acts and how many blokes he kisses (well, used to kiss. He tends to kiss the same guy nowadays), there's just some holes you can never fill. It sounds sickeningly cliche when he thinks about it, but it's the most accurate way of putting it.

Jackson chews on his bottom lip, eyes darting from the windows to the floor, before a small smile crosses his face. "And then you copped off with a fit rugby player, didn't you?"

 

* * *

 

"I was literally there when he pulled up in that minibus." Aaron remembers it vividly - his eyes had been all over Ed, quite shamelessly, the minute he arrived at the garage. "I could see you were checking him out."

"Have you seen 'im? Course I was," smirks Aaron, his mind wandering back to the rugby player who did more for him than he's ever really given him credit for. To be honest, Aaron owes Ed a lot. Ed didn't scarper when he found out about the scars that littered his stomach; hell, he took him to  _France._ Sure, it was a bit of a fleeing-the-country move, but it was a break that Aaron more than needed.

"That was brave, taking the rap for Adam," Jackson says. "Stupid as hell, but brave. That seems to be the way you live your entire life, i'nt it?"

"Charmin'," Aaron scoffs, though he secretly agrees. Less of the brave part, though. Most of the time he just regrets every decision he makes, but there are some he'll defend to his dying day (which seems to be the next sunrise if no one shows up); kissing Jackson for the first time properly is one of them. Reporting his dad is another.

"And then you went off to France and I couldn't find you!" Jackson exclaims, sounding playfully exasperated as he gives Aaron a nudge on his shoulder. More shivers run down Aaron's spine because it's been so long since he felt Jackson's hand on his body and it aches when he realises how much he misses it. "Can you remember any of the language of love?"

" _Oui, eh bien, la langue de l'amour n'a manifestement pas garder Ed intéressé longtemps, hein?_ " Aaron reels off, somewhat smug of his fluency in the language. The pronunciation is a bit rough round the edges - smooth French being spoken in a native Yorkshire accent never sounds totally legit - and he pauses a little half way through, causing Jackson to quirk an eyebrow in amusement, but he can't deny that he's impressed.

"And what does that mean?"

"Learn French and you'll find out, won't yer?"

That earns him a playful slap round the back of the head. It feels both alien and familiar at the same time, and it's one the strangest feelings Aaron has ever experienced. This is _after_ he floated out of his own almost-dead body.

 

* * *

 

"You came back here and immediately got yourself back into trouble - how very  _you_."

"I was getting a mate outta trouble. I'm sure you'd have done the same for me."

"I wouldn't have let you set fire to a bloody garage in the first place."

"Yeah, well, Adam's an idiot."

"So are you."

"Didn't stop you, though, did it?"

"'eh, just cause you're almost dead doesn't mean I can't clout you one."

It's banter like this that Aaron misses. He tosses sarcasm and laughter back and forth with Robert almost every day, and it always delves into flirtatious territory, which he certainly isn't complaining about; but the innocent, playful, first-love banter that trails off because you're too busy staring at each other in lovesick awe is something that only comes once. When it's all fumbles and drowning in devotion and unsure of your limits because it's the first ever relationship and you have no idea what to do - bonus points if it's the first gay relationship after coming out.

"And... enter the famous Robert Sugden." Jackson says the name with a rolled 's' and a certain theatricality that can only be reserved for Robert. It's incredibly fitting for Robert. And the way he says it sends a worrying nausea churning in the pit of his gut - how much does he know about him? How much has he seen?

Luckily, that question gets answered pretty quickly.

"God, that nutter has certainly put you through the motions, hasn't he?" There's a lash or two of venom in there, and although it's completely justified for someone who hasn't seen everything, Aaron  _has_ seen everything, and he immediately leaps into defensive mode.

"'e's not a _nutter_ ," he returns, voice low and gravely, a clear warning for Jackson to watch his mouth; Robert is one of the few things Aaron won't hear shit about. Only he's allowed to slag him off. "He's done some crazy stuff, yeah, but so 'ave I. You called me a nutjob once, remember?"

"Yeah, but this guy's on a whole new level."

Aaron keeps his eyes burning holes into the floor, jaw clenched and breathing heavily to keep himself from yelling; there's no point. If he dies, which he probably will, he's going to be walking the earth with Jackson for the rest of eternity. There's no point falling out with him.

"But I can tell you love him. And he loves you. So there's not much more you can ask for."

That sends waves of relief crashing through him. Even if he hasn't got his mum's approval yet, Jackson's approval (if you can really count that as approval) makes him feel so much better. 

"How much have you seen of him?" Aaron questions, shifting his position so he's facing his ex-boyfriend, whose legs are back up on the dashboard and whose fingers are picking at the tattered frays of the car seat fabric.

"Let's see..." Jackson sighs, looking up at the heavens in thought. "I saw when he showed up at the garage ages ago and you tw-" "Perv." "Shut up. I saw when you and him and Andy were at the quarry, and when you disappeared, he sounded terrified when he realised he couldn't see you anywhere. I saw when you twisted your ankle and him and Chas found you in the woods. I stayed there all night, next to you."

Aaron feels that ache in his heart again, the one he didn't think near-dead people were able to feel at all.

"I saw when you were at your dad's trial hearing, when he hobbled out on a cane," Jackson continues, voice considerably softer because he knows that this topic is especially touchy. Even after the verdict was given and he watched his dad finally be sent down for what he did to him, Aaron constantly turns a corner and expects his dad to be there, the same sick smirk on his face. "And I saw when your dad got sent down. You know, you could have told me about what your dad did to you. I'd have helped you."

Sometimes Aaron wonders why, in his moments of anger and rage, he never blurted it out, to Paddy _or_ Jackson. Then again, he already knows. He had too much on his plate with Paddy. A train came along before he had the chance to tell Jackson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering, this takes place a few years after current time in Emmerdale. Unfortunately, since I'm not psychic and the spoilers haven't been leaked (yet), I don't know what the outcome of Gordon's trial will be, but I think me and most of the fandom agree that he'll get sent down, so we'll just go for that in this fic. Hopefully it's canon and not AU.


	3. Chapter 3

"Robert's changed," Aaron says, ignoring the disapproving look that Jackson's sending him because he knows that he's right - Robert  _has_ changed. Some people still can't see it, his mum being one of them, but Aaron can. Whenever he looks back on when they first met, caught red-handed with Robert's car in the garage and throwing ribbons of sarcasm at each other whilst Ross stood behind and got them into the whole burglary mess. Even after that day, as much as he regrets helping with the burglary, he certainly doesn't regret giving the ring back. Who knows where they'd be if he hadn't?

"'onestly," he continues, staring Jackson straight in the eye. "I thought he were just a spoiled brat when I first met him - and he was, really - but you can't knock 'im until you've seen everything. I could never 'ave made it through my dad's trial without Robert. Without 'im, I wouldn't even be 'ere today."

"Yeah, I know," Jackson admits begrudgingly, sounding just like Chas and Paddy and virtually everyone does whenever Aaron brings up a good point about Robert. People seem allergic to the idea that it's possible for Robert to be a decent human being, even the ones who only know him through word-of-mouth, through brief snippets of overheard conversation about how poisonous he is, but Aaron knows better. Besides, ever since Robert began helping him out during the trial, and especially since they became official, the Dingles seemed to have softened towards him; not entirely, but enough to have a round with him at the Woolpack without exchanging venom. Aaron knew things were improving when he walked in to see Cain and Robert sat besides each other at the bar and conversing like normal human beings. It was nice to see after years of hostility.

"People don't know that Robert wasn't in a good head space either," Aaron replies, voice soft as he speaks. Over the past few years, Robert has managed to open up a little, tell Aaron more about his past and what happened before he left over a decade ago, and it's definitely shone a new light over his actions, and the rivalry with Andy which Aaron used to deem pathetic. He learned about the barn fire, Andy shooting his dad, being sent away by Jack and told never to return. The favouritism of Andy, something Robert has always been bitter about, turned out not to be delusions, and it definitely took Aaron by surprise. Robert's childhood was pretty crooked, as was his young adolescence, and everyone tends to ignore that for some reason. "'e's always been good at putting on a smile."

The events of the lodge, Aaron barely thinks about any more. It hurts a little too much. Robert had a breakdown that day, a full on breakdown, and beneath the sheer terror Aaron felt, there was pity, there was empathy. He's never pointed a gun at anyone's head, granted, but guilt and pressure affects people in different ways. He's not excusing those days, the bullet that was fired into Paddy's shoulder, but at least now he has an explanation for it.

Jackson stays quiet, eyes tracing over the features of his ex, before the scene is suddenly lightened by the glare of approaching headlights.

A car pulls up on the bend, coming to a steady halt, and a shadowed figure steps out, peering curiously down the ditch. Aaron's car must have left some tyre marks or mangled the metal barrier on its descent down the hillside; enough to grab the attention of a passer-by who dives into her handbag and pulls out a mobile phone.

"Well, what do ya know?" Jackson mumbles, and a rush of feeling tears through Aaron's body.  _Someone's found me._

The woman's voice cuts through the rural silence as she explains the situation to the device, describing an overturned car in the bushes. When the operator asks if she can see anyone in the vehicle, she pauses, before saying that she can certainly see  _something_ in here. Aaron wishes he was visible, so he could climb out and run up to her and shake her by the shoulders.  _I'm here. I'm still alive._

 

* * *

 

Another age of silence passes, a little more on edge than the last as both boys stir in the knowledge that help is on the way, and if things go well, they might be saying goodbye soon. His body doesn't look any better, but every time Aaron turns round to check on how he's doing, his chest is still rising and falling and his heart hasn't given up.

"I've missed you," Aaron says, shattering the silence, and Jackson looks up. "I've missed you more than you can imagine."

Before Jackson has the chance to respond, the sound of sirens rips through the atmosphere.

Blue light dances off the car wreck as a herd of emergency vehicles approach, roaring round the corner and pulling up to a halt near the woman, who has her arms up, waving wildly to attract attention. It succeeds, and as soon as the ambulance stops, a cluster of paramedics in high-vis coats come piling out, following the woman's directions down the hillside. Before Aaron barely has the chance to blink, they're surrounding the car, examining the damage and peering in through the windows.

"There's definitely someone in there," one of them pipes up to their co-workers, before raising their voice and slightly leaning towards the wreck, keeping enough distance between them to ensure safety. "Hello? Can you hear me?"

A fire engine arrives at the scene as the paramedic exchange words over the lack of response.

"Looks like you're gonna be okay after all," Jackson's soft voice grabs Aaron's attention; there's a balance of both relief and upset crossing his ex's face - relief that maybe, Aaron has a chance of making it out of this alive, and sadness for the exact same reason. It's an excusable selfishness. Anybody in his situation would feel the same. A cutter slices through the roof, gliding through the metal with incredible ease like a knife through butter, before a set of spreaders slip in and, with a heavy clunk that shakes the ground, prises the metal apart, revealing the heavens. The sky is cloudless, littered with glittering stars against an inky black background. Not a bad place to die, honestly.

When a paramedic's hand curls round the arm of Aaron's lifeless body, Aaron feels a tug in his own shoulder. It startles him, eyes widening, and despite the paramedic's gentle grip, it feels like a thousand weights dragging his shoulder left, right and centre. His form contorts as his body is carried from the wreck and smoothed out on an orange stretcher. _I'm still alive._ There's invisible magnets dragging him from his seat, pulling him, coaxing him towards the stretcher, like he's being sucked into a black hole, and when Jackson catches the look of alarm on his face, he immediately leans forward and places a comforting hand on Aaron's.

"Don't fight it, mate," he says, watching Aaron's knuckles whiten as they grip onto a twisted piece of piping. The metal writhes beneath him, the uncomfortable warmth of it attacking his nerves, but Aaron doesn't care - he doesn't want to go yet. They can't give Jackson back to him then take him away so soon. That's not fair. He's not ready to lose him again.

Scrabbling forward, Aaron lets go of the pipe and throws his arms around Jackson's shoulders. He feels _alive_ , just as solid and warm and healthy as he did before everything went wrong for them, and Aaron knows that no matter what happens in his life, as much as he adores Robert and knows he wants to spend his future with him, there'll always be love for Jackson in his heart. It will never go away. You can never stop loving someone, not really; it's a lesson that's been taught to him twice in his life. Once with Jackson, and once with Robert.

Jackson embraces him back, tight and just as desperate, and Aaron swears that if spirits could cry, he'd have rivers streaming from his eyes right now. He feels the world freeze, holding them still in that moment, before Jackson's arms disappear and Aaron can't fight the pull for much longer or he'll go flying backwards out the wreck. Climbing back out the window, whilst swallowing the lumps in his throat, he watches as his body is hauled into the back of an ambulance, swamped by paramedics as the firemen get to work on removing the car. It's incredibly jarring - ten minutes ago, their only company was the rustling shrubs and the wind.

Breaking out into a run, Aaron manages to leap into the back of the ambulance before the doors shut, and suddenly he's confined to the corner, standing over his body laid out on the stretcher. He looks dead. Grey, lathered in sticky dried blood, limp and shrivelled and  _dead_ , but his chest is rising and his lungs are filling and for some unknown reason, he's still clinging on. Whatever life that's left in him, not much but clearly enough, is obviously fighting its way to the surface. Maybe what doesn't kill you makes you stronger after all.

The paramedics fuss round him as the ambulance hurries round bends, checking his pulse every few minutes and patching up his wounds, especially the particularly nasty one on his forehead that his hair conceals. They work amazingly fast, swift and nimble-fingered, working to every stop and shudder the ambulance makes.

He can feel warmth creeping into him. It takes him a while before he notices but when he does, it's almost overbalancing.

His arms heat up first, a feeling comparable to pins and needles spreading slowly throughout his limbs, before it spreads to his head and congregates in the exact same place the wound is on his body. It's irritating at first, but the more they treat him, the more they warm him up and push medicine through his system, the stronger the sensation becomes until it feels like his head's about to cave in. What  _is_ this? Is this dying? Is this reviving? Whatever it is, it hurts like hell, and Aaron clasps his hands over his ears and around his head to try and block it out before he explodes.

"Pulse is getting stronger," a paramedic announces, scribbling the information onto a clipboard before checking again, two fingers pressed delicately into the side of his neck and then round his wrist. Aaron takes a breath, holds it, and in that moment he swears he can hear a heartbeat. He can  _feel_ a heartbeat, thumping in his own chest, and it dizzies him; this must be what dying feels like. Like falling apart bit by bit.

 

* * *

 

He follows the crew as they wheel him into the hospital, driving the stretcher up the busy hallway of the hospital and immediately carting him into examination. Although the magnetic pull to his body is still there, tugging at him feverishly like someone tugging a dog on a leash, he manages to resist it long enough to stay loitering outside the room; seeing his grotesque body littered with scars (both fresh and new) and the colour of cinders isn't at the top of his bucket list right now.

The corridors of a hospital always tend to be incredibly depressing, and today is no different; as Aaron paces back and forth between the waiting room and the coffee machine, he hears and sees every emotion possible for a human to experience. Sadness takes the form of a woman sobbing hysterically into her husband's shoulder, happiness takes the form of a family bigger than the Dingles receiving the news that their little girl has woken up from surgery. There's a man barely hanging onto consciousness by the rings under his eyes, who's returned to the coffee machine four times in a hour and ordered a double espresso with each visit. There's a woman looking tired but triumphant, clutching a newborn in her arms as her partner wheels her down the hallway. It's loud, always awake, and always busy.

It takes a while sorting him out, but when one of the doctors exits the room they've taken his body into, Aaron squeezes through, and freezes when he sees himself.

One is how different he looks. There's an IV plugged into his forearm, he's in a hospital gown and the wound in his head has been stitched up, but aside from that, he doesn't look so grey and corpse-like anymore. There's colour in his cheeks, no more blood matting his hair, and he's rid of dirt and mud. A heart rate monitor beeps steadily beside him, and an oximeter clings to his index finger.

The pull is stronger than ever now. The pins and needles feeling, despite his attempts to ignore it over the past few minutes, has only mutated to a thumping agony that yanks at his limbs and pounds in his head, in perfect sync with the heart monitor's beeping. How can he go back into his body? What happens when he wakes up?

His mind wanders as he stands at the foot of his bed, staring down at himself. It wanders to Robert, who's probably growing more and more agitated by the second at his boyfriend's unexplained absence; to Chas, his mum, who will either be asleep by now or also panicking about her son's whereabouts; to Adam and Victoria, who set off to the sunset in their street-food van and drop in every once in a while to say hello; to Liv, who should be asleep but will probably be sneaking out with her mates; to Jackson, who he hasn't seen for all of ten minutes but misses immensely.

There might be a choice of whether he wants to go or not. He's not seen any white lights yet, but there has to be some sort of decision he can make, the opportunity to refuse consciousness and walk the opposite direction. Maybe that's the reason people die in hospital from their bodies rejecting medicine, or when a tumour doesn't respond to treatment, or when someone spends three years in a coma and never stirs once - they've made their decision, their decision to die, and now he feels like his time is coming.

His wish to die is something that he has carried with him for years. Just a few years ago, back when he was a chavvy teenager, he gave into his wish, and even after surviving it his feelings never changed. Things have a habit of going wrong in his life - it seems that every other year, something ugly rears its head and pulls the rug from beneath him, knocking him back down to square one and full of self-loathing that he can only solve with a razor blade, and one day he knows he'll cut too deep. 

But on the other hand, he has everything to live for. He has a boyfriend who, after all the years of ups and downs and ecstasy and heartache they've been through, is everything he could ever want and more; a boyfriend who has followed him to the ends of the earth and back again. Someone who means everything to him, who he can't bear to leave behind. He has a mum who, even if she grows a little suffocating at times, loves him dearly and vice versa. He has a little sister with a devilish smile who he's desperate to prevent repeating all his mistakes. He has the Dingles, the closest-knit family in all of England whose melodrama, despite making him want to tear his hair out most of the time, just make him love them more. 

And it's whilst he's thinking about this, about the lights in his life, that he feels himself slip away into the ether.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up, there's a pressure on his hand, interlinked with his fingers. It disappears as soon as his eyes open.

Everything's blurry at first. Very white, sharp, intruding and overwhelming; it blinds him for a few seconds before his eyes finally adjust and the textures of the ceiling sharpen. That beeping returns, the rhythmic beeping of the neighbouring heart monitor, and for once it isn't irritating - it's actually reassuring.

He's lying in his hospital bed, dressed in a checked gown and an IV line dripping into his veins. There's shadows of people conversing outside his room, their silhouettes visible through the window, clutching coffee cups and casting their eyes into the room every few minutes. When they see him stir, they move like lightening, the double door to his room flying open and the relieved faces of Robert and Chas running in.

"Aaron!" Chas' harsh voice cuts through his aching head, but it sends relief flooding through him; a while ago, he wasn't sure he'd ever hear that voice again.

Robert orders Chas to fetch a doctor, which she immediately does, speeding out as quickly as she'd entered as Robert sits down beside the bed, wrapping his hands around Aaron's own and blinking back tears himself.

"Oh, Aaron," he breathes, moving a hand to gently cup Aaron's face and trembling slightly as he does it. "I thought you were supposed to be an expert on cars, then you go and bloody crash one." Trust Rob to bring humour into the situation. It works, though, coaxing a weak smile from both of them, before Robert lets out a shaky breath and his expression softens. He looks so worn out, so tired, clearly running on caffeine to stay awake but it doesn't matter now he knows that Aaron's going to be okay.

The nurses come in and usher Rob out before conducting their checks and their tests, reading measures off of equipment and replacing bandages and sending different chemicals coursing through his system. As uncomfortable as it is, it certainly feels nice being _awake_ , and it turns out that despite a few fractures, a broken ankle and some cuts and bruises, he escaped the accident pretty unscathed.

"You must have a guardian angel watching over you," one of the young nurses smiles as she writes down numbers on a clipboard. _If only you knew._

They allow family in to visit; two at a time, so Chas and Robert walk in and sit beside him. Aaron explains all he can remember (leaving out the whole out-of-body experience part), how he must have swerved and gone tumbling down a cliff edge and doesn't remember anything further. He can feel everything again - the soft mattress beneath him, his hair tickling his nape, Robert's hand clutching Aaron's like he's afraid to let go in case this is all a dream. 

"God," Chas breathes once the story has been told, shaking her head in amazement. "Someone up there must love you, sunshine."

Maybe that person isn't up in the clouds, watching over him omnisciently.

Maybe that person is in fact stood in the corner of the hospital room, arms folded over their chest and wearing a fond grin.

Aaron can't see anything, just the bare walls meeting to a line and a potted plant, but he's knows someone's there. He smiles.

Jackson smiles back.

He's happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone who read this! x Love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally based off a dream I had. Don't ask :P


End file.
